Happily Never After
by Inks Inc
Summary: "I couldn't make her happy, I couldn't change my ways. I couldn't be the man she wanted, or deserved. I couldn't be what I tried to be, she couldn't be what I needed her to be..." Completed One-Shot.


I guess being forty isn't all that bad.

I wouldn't go so far as to agree with that ridiculous sentiment that life begins at forty, but all in all, it's not bad. Would I rather be back in my twenties? Sure. Would I rather my hair didn't have specs of dignified grey here and there? Maybe. But on the whole, this half-life business isn't as horrendous as I've always imagined. Assuming of course that my life expectancy of eighty plus is achieved. Which it should be, I remain pretty anal about my physique and diet. The annoyingly perky waitress approaches and I catch sight of myself in her solid silver tray.

Bored.

I look bored.

Because I am bored, because being forty _is_ all that bad. Because I really would rather be back in my twenties and I really do hate the specs of grey appearing here and there in my hair. Because every day is a repeat of the day before it. I have twice as many cars, houses and boats as I did twenty years ago. I have thrice as many subsidiaries, prime penthouses and flourishing corporations as I did two decades ago… and I'm more than five times as miserable now, as I was back then.

Because back in 2011… I wasn't miserable at all.

I was… how do you say it? What do you call it?

Oh yeah, _happy._

I was happy.

You know, they continue to insist that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Well, I call bullshit on that one. I call double bullshit with dung infused cherries on top. If I had never known what love is, I couldn't miss it the way I do. The way I always do at the most acute levels on days like this, days of reflection and supposed celebration. The never-ending spiel of society scandal and tennis club gossip pierces my eardrums. The people that frequent this restaurant make me sick, and yet, here I am. Because reputation is all I have, and reputation dictates that I spend the most in the most expensive places with the highest degree of frequency.

She doesn't speak, though.

Thank fuck for small mercies.

She doesn't speak, because she doesn't have permission to speak and she is a quintessential sub. She was born for it, bred for it and basks in it. Georgina is everything a man like me could ask for, could dream of. Legs that never end, a rack that is actually her own and continues to defy the laws of gravity and a brain that is filled with something more than dresses and pretty shoes. And yet, I have nothing to say to her. I have nothing to talk to her about, to dissect or discuss with her.

She pokes her salad around the plate.

I sigh and shoot her the look.

Suddenly, tossed lettuce meets fork and eating eventually ensues.

I give her a small, approving smile. It's the fucking least I can do. She does everything I ask of her and then some. Drumming my fingers on the table, I wonder why I consented to this shitshow. She had been kneeling by my desk when she plucked up the courage to ask, in the dusky confines of Escala on a rainy Seattle's evening. My eyes trail across her delicate face and her smouldering brown eyes and recall her hesitant voice, infused with just the right amount of demure breathlessness.

 _"Sir?"_

 _I look up from my never-ending stack of balance sheets._

 _"Georgina?"_

 _She licks her rosebud lips and glances meekly up at me, a flickering gaze._

 _"May I speak freely?"_

 _Eyes twitching from examining miniscule numbers, I consider her request._

 _"Sure, Georgina, you can speak freely. What's on your mind?"_

 _That fleeting gaze again, before those big brown eyes find the floor once more._

 _"Sir, I would like to take you out for your birthday tomorrow night. We haven't been out together in so long and I… I know what our relationship is, and I'm not asking you for more. I know you can't do the whole hearts and flowers thing… but one dinner, one meal… one night… and I will ask you for nothing more… please?"_

 _Oh, for fucks sake._

 _Just what I need._

 _Another one incapable of actually accepting the truth they speak, of acceding to the fact that I cannot be fixed. But, fair is fair, she is an impeccable sub and I'm not ready to start the process of finding a new one. What's one dinner? I can give the girl one miserable dinner._

 _"Sure, Georgina, one dinner. Silence from hereon in however, understand?"_

 _Her smile lets me know that she thinks she's special._

 _That her plan is working, that she's the one… the one to finally cure me._

 _Impossible._

 _"Yes, Sir."_

I snap back to reality and stare at her across the table. _Fucks sake, Grey. What is the matter with you?_ She could be with a Dom that actually cares, in their own way. She could be with a Dom that has the emotional capacity to care, in their own way. That's not me. I'm not that guy. And the look in her eyes tells me she's crossed the line. We're not a contract anymore. I am, she's not, the agreement is null and void. I open my mouth to say… something, I don't know what… but mischief suddenly illuminates her eyes.

It's a crowded restaurant and she chooses her moment wisely.

No one sees her as she pretends to reach for her purse on the floor.

And slip lithely from her chair and slither under the draping table linen.

A shiver rips through me and the words shrivel to dust in my throat. Her slender hand cups my hardening cock as she expertly releases it through the zipper of my jeans. My hands curl into fists as her warm lips spread their wettened thrill over my tip and I have to bite my lip to supress a guttural groan from betraying us. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ I'm leading her on, I'm being a heartless bastard… but it feels so good, she feels so good…

And today, I just want to _feel…_ something, anything…

My head tips back as her teeth gently grind towards my shaft, her soft nibbles expertly drawing me closer and closer to release. I close my eyes, feigning a migraine to the outside world, and commit the shameful sin I always succumb to in this situation, and any situation remotely like it. With my eyes closed and Georgina doing an amazing job of hiding… I can almost convince myself, just about assure myself…

But not quite.

Never, ever quite.

 _Anastasia…_

I couldn't make her happy, I couldn't change my ways. I couldn't be the man she wanted, or deserved. I couldn't be what I tried to be, she couldn't be what I needed her to be. She's happily married now, to a perfectly decent man called Jason. They have three children, two girls and a boy. She's an editor-in-chief and he's a High School math teacher. Their kids play Little League. They're perfect, the consummate all-American family.

And I'm happy for her.

Happy for her in my aloneness, my loneliness.

And today, with Georgina's mouth cradling my cock, all I can think of is her.

How I wish it was her mouth…

At the brink of climax, I extract myself and subtly zip myself back up. I can't do this. The high has truly worn off. It always does, slowly, but _always._ And when it does… I have to get out. I have to. After a moment, Georgina emerges from under the table with a swift movement that no one sees and slips back into her chair. Not a soul is any the wiser. She really is a kinky bitch. The kind of woman I should crave… but don't. Hurt blooms in her eyes, but she takes a sip of water and comports herself.

The perfect sub.

 _The perfect godamned sub._

And I don't want her.

"Georgina," I say quietly, "I think you should know that-"

She interrupts me, for the first time, and it takes me by surprise.

"I guess all the other women were right," she mutters bitterly, "I thought they were just making excuses, to make themselves feel better. But they weren't. I did everything right… I know I did. I made myself into everything you need, everything you want and still… still you thought of her, every single time. It's not normal… but I guess you know that."

I feel my eyes widen as she stands and tosses her napkin down on the table.

"Let me save you the bother of ending our contract, _Sir._ I know what this is, I know what you're about to say. But let me tell you this. You are who you are, and she is who she is. She's out there somewhere, right now, and she's not thinking of you. It's been over a decade… she's _not_ thinking of you. And unless you realize that and finally accept it, you're gonna be sitting in a place just like this on your fiftieth birthday and you're gonna be just as alone as you are now…"

She stares down at me with pity and I can barely bear to hold her gaze.

"If she means that much to you, why didn't you change?"

My voice is low as I find the truth.

"I tried. I tried, and I couldn't… I am what I am, Georgina. You know that."

She sighs and shakes her head.

"That's just it, Christian. If you were what you think you are… you wouldn't have tried to change in the first place."

She touches my shoulder softly and whispers her parting words.

"Let her go, Christian. Let her go… or you'll never again find happiness."

She walks from the restaurant without a backwards glance.

I watch her go and ponder her words with that painful tightness in my chest. She's right, I need to let her go. I need, even after all this time, closure. The easiest way to do that would be to call Anastasia. I have her number, of course I do. I should just call and… hear her voice, just one last time. Like I've threatened to do so many times before. I pull out my cell and stare at it for a nanosecond before taking a deep breath and tapping in a number, knowing that the dial tone is the only thing between me and assuaging the rising panic of my distraction-less existence.

The call connects.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and drag a mouthful of air through my teeth.

This call will be determinative, indicative… it will be telling.

"Taylor? Pull all the usual files immediately. I need a new sub."

….

A/N: Random one-shot. I just wanted to see what Christian would like in an Ana-less world, many years down the line! I always questioned his ability to "snap out" of his Dom ways in the books, so this is my little experiment in pragmatism-come-realism!

Till next time,

Inks x

…


End file.
